


Recidivism

by osprey_archer



Series: Reciprocity [23]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Mindwiping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osprey_archer/pseuds/osprey_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What the hell is in the backseat of your car?” Tony asked. </i>
</p><p> <i>“Brock Rumlow,” said Natasha. “Ex-Hydra agent.” A beat. "He thinks his name is Jack."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Recidivism

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [littlerhymes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerhymes/pseuds/littlerhymes) for betaing this!
> 
> I originally conceived of this idea as a dark AU. Then the _Agents of SHIELD_ came back from its midseason break, and it was...not AU anymore. WTF, AoS?

“Bobbi recommended this place,” said Natasha, eyeing the tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the letters of its name – _Sunshine Diner_ – peeling off the smudged glass windows. “But I don’t know.” 

“The sign says it has cherry cobbler,” Steve said, and gave Natasha his best hangdog expression. 

It made Natasha laugh. His hangdog expressions always did. “I’ve never had cobbler,” she admitted.

“Well then, now we _have_ to go.” 

They were wending their way back to New York. Steve chafed a little at the delay: he wanted to help sift through the SHIELD files in preparation for the upcoming _Scapegoat_ hearings. Following _Scapegoat_ ’s accusation that SHIELD personnel had invented Hydra as a cover story to exonerate their own actions, Congress had reopened their defunct SHIELD investigation. 

But Pepper had politely, firmly suggested that Steve and Natasha should continue their road trip. _Scapegoat_ had lingered on the clip where Natasha walked contemptuously out of the Congressional hearing post-Insight. “Turning her back on democracy,” the voiceover put it. 

The hearings would take up enough of Natasha’s time once they started. Steve wanted to at least fortify her with good memories and cherry cobbler first. 

They walked inside the restaurant, quiet in the lull between the lunch and dinner rush. They both went still at the same time. 

“Jesus Christ,” said Steve, and the same time as Natasha said, “That’s – is that Rumlow?” 

In the first moment they saw him, Steve had been certain that it was. But the more he looked, the more uncertain he felt. He hadn’t seen Rumlow in three years, after all, and his scars had still been fresh then; and this man seemed absolutely indifferent to their presence in a way that Steve thought would be hard to fake. 

Also. “Coulson would have told us if Rumlow escaped,” Steve said. Steve and Natasha and Sam would have been first on Rumlow’s hit list if he got out. “It’s got to be some poor civilian who just looks creepily like him.” 

Someone who not only looked just like Rumlow, but had similar severe burn scars too. Right.

Natasha didn’t seem quite convinced either. “He could be pretending he doesn’t recognize us,” she said. “You keep him talking while I snag some fingerprints off his beer and check them. If he’s just some random civilian, no harm, no foul.” 

Steve expected Rumlow to bolt as they approached his table, but he didn’t even look up from the beer bottles clustered around his place until they were standing almost on top of hm. He really did look uncannily like Rumlow, burn scars and all, and Steve blurted, “Brock?” 

The man looked up at Steve, confused. Natasha took advantage of his confusion to scan one of his beer bottles with her phone and slip away. “Sorry,” the man said. “Who are you?” 

The voice was Rumlow’s: hoarse from the scars of smoke inhalation, but Rumlow’s. Steve felt a very nasty sense of déjà vu. _Who the hell is Bucky?_

And of course Rumlow knew about that. Rumlow had been there that day. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Steve snapped. 

Rumlow drew back in his chair. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. Probably I do know you. It’s just I don’t remember anything from before the accident.” 

Steve’s face flushed. “I’m sorry,” he replied, and his flush deepened. Way to torment the amnesiac, Rogers. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“Wrapped my car around a telephone pole and the engine caught fire,” the man said. “That’s what Mary tells me.”

“Mary?” Steve echoed. Rumlow had a sister named Mary. Steve met her once: small and snappish and dark-haired. She had not seemed to like Rumlow much. But then, Mary wasn’t an uncommon name. 

“My little sister,” the man said, his rough voice suffused with warmth. “She’s looked after me since the accident. When she can be in town, I mean, she’s got to travel a lot for her job. She was supposed to come today, but she had to cancel.” He took another drink of his beer. 

Steve’s phone pinged. “Sorry, that’s my girlfriend,” Steve lied, grabbing his phone with relief. “Just a sec – ”

A message from Natasha. _It’s Rumlow_. 

Steve stared at the message for a few seconds. “What did you say your name was?” Steve asked. 

Rumlow lifted one scarred hand to shake. Steve took it mechanically. The burn scars were rough against his skin. “My name’s Jack,” Rumlow said. 

“Oh,” said Steve. He felt like he’d been punched. “Oh. I _did_ know you.” 

***

It wasn’t hard to wrangle an invitation to Rumlow’s place. Steve hoped that wasn’t a sign that this was all some sort of unlikely ambush. 

“My girlfriend’s going antiquing,” Steve told Rumlow. “I hate that shit.” Actually he kind of liked antiquing, but it seemed like something Rumlow would hate. And sure enough, Rumlow was smirking a little at the thought. 

“You’ve gotta come meet my dog,” Rumlow said, and that settled things. Steve paid Rumlow’s tab – Rumlow’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t protest – and they ambled down a side street toward Rumlow’s place. Rumlow had an odd rolling walk, like a sailor, as if he couldn’t bend his knees too much. 

Either Rumlow was a world-class actor – and it was a distinct possibility; he _was_ Hydra – or he was too injured to be a field agent. Maybe Hydra had wiped his mind to make sure he couldn’t betray any information now that he was no longer useful to them.

But no, that made no sense. How would they get a hold of Rumlow? Coulson would have told Steve if Rumlow was no longer in SHIELD custody. 

“Hey,” said Rumlow, his voice a little awkward. “I kind of think I was an asshole to you before the accident. I mean, I kind of think I was an asshole to everyone before the accident. But maybe to you especially.”

Steve wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He used to fantasize about Rumlow apologizing to him. He had never managed to imagine that much sincerity in Rumlow’s voice. “Don’t worry about it, man,” Steve said. “Water under the bridge.” And it was true. Steve had been so angry with Rumlow, but now he couldn’t even feel it. “I’m sorry I fell out of touch. How long ago was the accident?” 

“This summer, I guess. Mary tells me I was in a coma for a while afterward. I got out of the hospital just around mid-September.”

About two months ago. 

Rumlow lived in a trailer at the edge of town. Dead leaves lay in piles on the long, ragged grass. “Let me send my girlfriend the address,” said Steve. “She’ll pick me up once she’s done antiquing.” 

“Antiquing,” said Rumlow, in a tone of tolerant disgust that Steve remembered well. Apparently even amnesia couldn’t dent Brock Rumlow’s sexism. 

_Bringing the car around,_ Natasha texted back. _Sure he’s not faking?_

 _Pretty sure_.

Rumlow’s key had a sort of bean-shaped grip, which Rumlow stuck his fingers through to help him hold it well enough to get the key in the lock. “I usually clean up before Mary visits, but she hasn’t been here for a couple of weeks, so it’s kind of a mess,” Rumlow said. 

“That’s all right,” Steve said. He was listening, straining his super hearing for the sounds of breathing that would indicate an ambush in the trailer. Nothing. 

“Don’t know why I lock the damn place,” Rumlow muttered. His face was turning red, making the pale scars stand out painfully. “It’s not like I’ve got anything worth stealing.” 

But the key finally turned, and Rumlow shoved the trailer door open. Steve half-expected the smell of Axe to waft out – Rumlow’s apartment used to stink of Axe – but the trailer smelled mostly like cheap beer and dog hair.

Steve had been to Rumlow’s old apartment a couple of times. It had been a bare, masculine place: enormous armchairs grouped to face an enormous flat-screen TV. A luxurious book of swimsuit models lounging on vintage cars rested on a heavy glass coffee table. Rumlow had no pictures on the walls, but just a foot below the ceiling ran a shelf lined with fancy beer bottles, no two alike. 

“You buy those bottles on Ebay?” Steve had teased, and was pleased by the natural way the word _Ebay_ passed his lips. He was getting the hang of the twenty-first century thing.

“Nah,” said Rumlow. He had tossed Steve a beer, and Steve caught it on reflex. Something bitter and dark, he remembered. Thick, like Guinness. “I collect ‘em. Like to pick up a six-pack as a souvenir on missions.” 

Beer bottles littered Rumlow’s trailer, too. Bud Light bottles sat on stacks of car and sports magazines and lay on the carpet among tufts of dog hair. Rumlow nudged one bottle with his foot as if to push it under an armchair, then seemed to realize that tidying was hopeless. “I drink too much,” he said, in a tone that dared Steve to make something of it.

Steve thought that was probably true, but he was here to gather information, not lecture Rumlow about his dangerous coping mechanisms. “You’ve had a shitty year, man,” he said. 

Rumlow softened at that. “Mary’s always after me to pick up a hobby,” he said. “Always bringing shit with her for me to try. Last time she had _knitting_ , can you believe it? Great big needles so I could do it with my goddamn hands.” 

A _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issue lay open on the end table. Steve wondered if Rumlow could still jack off with all the scars, and promptly decided never to wonder about that again. 

“Anyway, I’ve got a hobby,” Rumlow said. “I’ve been training my dog. She’s so goddamn smart, you wouldn’t believe. Want to meet her?”

“Sure,” said Steve. 

Rumlow whistled. A golden retriever shot into the room through a dog door. She danced around Rumlow, tail wagging, barking joyfully, and Rumlow pulled a dog treat out of his pocket and tossed it to her. “This is Lucy,” he said, as the dog ate the treat up. “Shake, Lucy.” 

Lucy held out her paw. Rumlow glanced over at Steve. Steve’s stomach contracted at the hopefulness on his face, but he came over and shook the dog’s paw. Lucy’s tail wagged some more. 

“Hug, Lucy,” Rumlow said, and Lucy bounded up on the armchair so Rumlow could hug her without having to bend down. Her plumy tail wagged furiously. She licked Rumlow’s face. “Down girl, down,” he said, laughing, and scratched her behind the ears when she complied. “She was gonna be a service dog, but she washed out,” Rumlow said. “Probably realized she’d never get to play Frisbee if she got stuck with some dumbass blind kid, huh, girl? We sit on the back porch and toss Frisbees a lot. She loves it. I dunno what I’ll do with myself when it gets too cold.”

Lucy hopped off the chair and dashed back out the dog door, returning with a battered green Frisbee in her mouth and a hopeful wag of her tail. “See what I mean?” Rumlow said, laughing. “She’s so damn smart.” 

“I saw a documentary about a guy who trained his dog to fetch over a hundred objects,” Steve suggested. “Maybe you could do that?” 

“Yeah,” said Rumlow. “Hey, _yeah_. She can already fetch my slippers – slippers, Luce!” The dog dropped the Frisbee and dashed down the hall. She returned with a pair of battered slippers in her mouth. “Good girl! I’ll ask Mary to bring some dog toys or shit.” Suddenly he seemed to remember his duties as a host. “You want a beer? Or just a glass of water. I can get you whatever.” 

“Yeah, sure,” said Steve. He probably shouldn’t drink anything Rumlow gave him, but he could knock the glass over or something, and he needed Rumlow out of the room so he could look around properly. Search for clues. “A glass of water?”

“Sure!” Rumlow sounded heartbreakingly enthusiastic. “Or I’ve got Coke if you want that. Mary got me this great machine that opens the screw tops for me.” 

“Sure, a Coke,” Steve said. “Thanks.”

Once Rumlow had gone into the kitchen, Steve began his search Beneath the surface neglect, it looked like someone had tried to set up this place to be comfortable for Rumlow. The armchairs were soft but not deep: easy for a man who had trouble moving to get out of. The lamps switches were all equipped with special grips to make them easy to turn. A large-buttoned remote sat on the table. Steve touched one of the buttons, and the radio came on. Classical music. NPR. 

“I usually listen to _Car Talk_ reruns,” Rumlow called from the kitchen, defensive. 

“You always were a gearhead,” Steve said. His throat hurt. Suddenly he wanted Bucky to be there, just so Steve could see him, see that he was all right. 

“How’d we meet, anyway? Army?” Rumlow asked. “Mary says I used to be military. I feel like you were maybe my senior officer.”

“Yeah.” A bunch of dusty model cars sat on the built-in shelf in the corner, next to a standing calendar. A few of the dates were circled in red, including that day, although that had been crossed off in big angry strokes. Mary’s canceled visit. The photograph next to it had been knocked over. Steve moved to pick it up. 

“Did I give you a lot of shit?” Rumlow said. “I have this feeling I gave you a ton of shit. I’m sorry. It’s really fucking nice of you to come down here despite that.”

Steve picked up the photograph to set it upright. All his unease and confusion collapsed into an icy ball in his chest. 

“This photo by the calendar – is that your sister?” 

“Yeah,” said Rumlow, his voice full of warmth. “That’s Mary.”

That was Bobbi. Steve had met her a few times on the Bus. 

His hands felt numb, but he snapped a photo with his phone and sent it to Natasha. _Rumlow’s sister._

Natasha replied lightning fast: _Bobbi’s Hydra???_

Steve swallowed. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. He could hear Rumlow’s dragging steps on the linoleum, and the soft tap of Lucy’s nails. _I don’t think so,_ he wrote; and thought of Bucky, still on the Bus, and for a moment his hands felt so weak that he almost dropped the phone. 

Natasha must have understood, because she texted back, _Hold tight. Coming in._

“You want me to help you with that?” Steve called to Rumlow.

“No, I’ve got it,” Rumlow called. He sounded frustrated. “I’m just a little slow, I’m not a cripple, _Jesus_.” 

Steve felt perilously close to tears again. He went to stand in the kitchen doorway. Rumlow’s minifridge sat on the counter so he wouldn’t have to bend over to reach anything. He had a Coke bottle in a boxy machine. It made a grinding sort of noise when he turned it on. 

It must have covered the sound of Natasha’s approach, because Steve didn’t even know she was there until he heard a soft popping noise by his ear. A blue spot bloomed on Rumlow’s neck, and he fell to the kitchen floor. Lucy howled. Natasha shot her too.

“Natasha!” Steve cried.

Natasha had already holstered her gun. “It’s just an ICER,” she said. “Come on. We’ve got to take him to Stark Tower.” Her face was pale and set. “As evidence. Tony holds SHIELD’s purse strings; he just has to cut their funding to stop them, or at least slow them down. I hope to God he didn’t okay this in advance.”

Steve’s head swam at the possibility that maybe Tony _had_. He grasped the counter to steady himself. “We’ve got to take Lucy too,” he said.

“The dog?” 

“Rumlow adores that dog,” Steve said. Natasha looked at him, expressionless, and he added, “Come on, Natasha. Someone wiped his memories – ” 

“Coulson,” Natasha said quietly.

“We don’t know for sure,” Steve protested, although it sounded weak.

“Come on, Steve. Who else could it be? A second Hydra infestation? SHIELD was experimenting with memory erasure before the fall of the Triskelion as part of the T.A.H.I.T.I. project. Fury told me about it when I asked about Coulson’s resurrection.” She looked at him. “Coulson led the original T.A.H.I.T.I. project,” she said. 

They were both silent a moment. Then Steve said, “Coulson wiped Rumlow’s memories. Let’s not take away his dog too.”

“Okay.”

Steve hefted their limp bodies, one in each arm, and carried them out to the car. 

Dark pine trees loomed on both sides of the road as they drove out of town. Steve gripped the wheel, hands at ten and two, resisting the urge to slam the pedal to the floor. “What the fuck is Coulson thinking?” Steve asked. “Putting together a mind-wiping – Jesus fuck, a _mind-wiping_ program.” 

“He probably thinks he can get away with it,” Natasha said. She had her head tilted back against the headrest. “There’s always been a lot of favoritism in SHIELD. If the higher-ups liked you, you could get away with murder.” 

“Literally?” Steve asked, and answered himself. “Of course literally. Jesus Christ.”

“Before the fall of the Triskelion, Coulson blew up a secret SHIELD base to get medicine to save Skye’s life.”

“Jesus!” Steve exploded. “And Fury didn’t do anything?”

“After he went to all that trouble bringing Coulson back to life? He wasn’t going to take Coulson out of the field for a couple of almost-accidental murders. Didn’t even take the Bus away.”

“And then he appointed Coulson director,” Steve said grimly. He smacked his hand against the steering wheel. The horn let out a blast. The pick-up next to them swerved and barely corrected its course in time to miss a semi. “Shit,” Steve said. “And I rejoined SHIELD, I _rejoined SHIELD_ , what the hell is wrong with me?”

“We wanted to stop a bunch of psychotic neo-Nazis from taking over the earth and killing millions of people,” Natasha said. “Shame on us.” 

“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” Steve muttered. “I can’t believe I dragged Bucky into all of this – ” He nearly swerved into the semi himself. “Do you think Coulson threatened him with the T.A.H.I.T.I. machine? Back during his interrogation?” 

“I don’t know,” said Natasha. “Do you think it’s been going on that long? How long has Rumlow – ?”

“Two months ago,” Steve said. He calmed down a little. “He’d be high on their list, don’t you think?”

“A high-ranking Hydra member, and so badly scarred he won’t be much a threat? Yeah.” 

“ _God,_ I want Bucky off the Bus. I can’t believe I left him there alone. What if Coulson gets mad at him? What if he – ?”

“Breathe,” said Natasha. “You talked to Bucky two days ago. He was fine. He sent me a lolcat this morning. He’s _fine_. This is SHIELD, Steve. There’s nothing too good for our own people. It’s only our enemies who deserve fates worse than death.” 

Steve breathed. He drove on, trying to force himself to focus on the road. His hands seemed to have glued themselves to the wheel. He forced himself to uncurl his fingers: right hand first, then the left. “I think we should talk to Pepper first,” he said. “Tony might get mixed up in something like this if Coulson presented it as a scientific puzzle, but Pepper – ”

“Stop the car,” Natasha said suddenly. Steve did, and she was quietly sick out the side door.

“Natasha?” Steve asked. But she shook her head, and he began to drive again.

They were maybe half a dozen miles down the road when Natasha said, “I just remembered.” She looked over at Steve. Her eyes were bloodshot from vomiting. “Just before you left the Bus last May. I took Ward back to them.” 

***

Stark Tower was already in uproar when they arrived. Pepper and Tony met them in the garage. “Natasha! Steve!” Tony said, before they even had time to close their car doors. “Just in time! Coulson should be here in about an hour.”

Even Natasha, improviser extraordinaire, gasped. “How did you know?” she asked.

But Tony had continued right on talking, and didn’t hear her. “Steve, did you and Barnes blow up Daddy dearest’s vault in the Black Forest?” 

“Um,” Steve said, scrabbling to remember what Tony was talking about. That mission to Germany. Blowing up Howard Stark’s forgotten vault. Right. “Yes,” Steve began; but before he could even get the word out, Tony continued, “No, wait, of course you did. Otherwise Coulson wouldn’t have set FitzSimmons to reverse engineer that shit from the debris.” 

“ _What_?” said Steve. 

“What’s happened?” Natasha asked Pepper.

“We’ve been going through SHIELD files to help put together a defense for the _Scapegoat_ hearings,” Pepper said. “Tony found some anomalies, so he hacked into the SHIELD database and discovered that Coulson has his people working to recreate the things that were blown up in the vault. The fear gas. The lighter that induces temporary amnesia. All of it.” 

“I’m amazed Coulson blew it up in the first place,” said Tony. 

“He probably didn’t mean to,” said Steve. He was beginning to feel ill again. “Probably Bucky was supposed to – ” _stop me_ , he thought; _and disobeyed his orders, oh, Bucky, God. Please be okay._

But Tony interrupted. “What the hell is in the backseat of your car?” 

“Brock Rumlow,” said Natasha. “Ex-Hydra agent.” A beat. “We think Coulson mind-wiped him.”

Silence. Tony looked appalled. “No,” he said. “Coulson wouldn’t.” 

Thank God. “Did you think he would reverse engineer the weapons from Howard’s vault?” Steve asked. 

“He had the means and the motive for mind-wiping,” Natasha added, ruthless. “And he’s the only one with the opportunity.” 

Pepper and Tony looked at each other. Then Pepper said, “We’d better make a plan before the Bus gets here.” 

***

It took all of Steve’s willpower not to run over and sweep Bucky up in a hug when he trooped off the Bus with the rest of Coulson’s crew. Bucky didn’t look like he was in a hugging mood, anyway. He walked with his shoulders braced, left arm swinging, his face mutinous and sulky; and it became more mutinous still when he saw Steve standing on Tony’s roof with the Tony’s welcome committee. 

Steve had never been so happy to see Bucky scowling at him. 

Did the rest of the crew know about the mind-wiping program? Steve wondered as he watched them walk down the loading ramp. May, walking at Coulson’s side; Fitz and Simmons, pointing out some detail of Stark Tower’s design to each other. Skye walked beside Bucky, looking around bright-eyed. 

Bobbi came down the loading ramp a few steps behind Bucky, and Steve felt an odd shock upon seeing her in the flesh. She smiled, and he glanced to the side to see that the smile was directed at Natasha; and Natasha, consummate professional that she was, smiled back. 

“Bobbi was one of my first friends in SHIELD,” Natasha told Steve quietly. “Back when most people thought I was just as likely to be a mole as a defector.”

Steve touched her arm. He would have said something, but Tony and Pepper had already stepped forward to greet Coulson, and Steve couldn’t risk saying something that might warn Coulson that he wasn’t here only about the vault. 

They needed to find more evidence before they accused Coulson, Pepper had argued. Tony’s minions would search the Bus while Tony stalled Coulson over dinner. The minions would call if they found anything; Tony had set the ringtone to Darth Vader’s theme from _Star Wars_. 

It was a good plan. It was still hard for Steve to listen quietly as Tony and Coulson made barbed small talk over Tony’s own hibachi grill. 

“Does Tony keep a hibachi chef on staff?” Steve murmured. 

“He did when I worked here,” Natasha said. 

“He’s economized since then,” Rhodey said. “He only hires the chef for special occasions.” Rhodey sat on Steve’s left, his uniform perfectly neat even though he’d arrived in War Machine only a few minutes before the Bus. Just in case they needed reinforcements, Tony said. In case Coulson’s people tried to fight their way out. 

The thought made Steve settle his spoon back in his miso soup. 

The chef tossed an egg in his hat. Steve thought he looked sad, as well he might, with such an unappreciative audience. The food was excellent, but only Bucky and Tony ate with any gusto. 

And Bucky wasn’t so much eating as shoveling food in his mouth, barely even chewing it before he swallowed. Had they been feeding him properly on the Bus? He wore so many layers of clothes, it was hard to tell. He fidgeted, and when he caught Steve looking at him, he glared. 

“I have every legal right not to give you another dime,” Tony burst out. His sharp tone jerked Steve’s attention away from Bucky. He was gesticulating with his chopsticks, stabbing them toward Coulson’s face like he wanted to poke out Coulson’s eyes. 

Coulson looked bored. “Of course you do,” said Coulson. “It would be unfortunate to have to waste time looking for other sources of funding, especially given that we did, after all, follow your instructions – ”

“I told you to destroy the vault!” 

“Which we did,” Coulson said. 

“I thought ordering you to destroy the vault sort of implied that you shouldn’t swoop down on the debris to put it all back together again. Was I not clear enough?”

“You were perfectly clear. But you have no legal right to dictate the use of the inventions in the Black Forest vault,” Coulson pointed out. “Your father never took out a patent on any of them.” 

Tony stared at him. “I thought I was being paranoid when I asked Steve to go along to make sure the vault got blown up,” he said. “Would you have even destroyed the vault if he hadn’t been there?” 

“ _Fuck_ no,” Bucky said. 

That shut Tony up. It shut everyone up: the whole table stared at Bucky. Coulson and May’s expressions were unreadable, but Simmons and Fitz both wore looks that Steve could only read as _Et tu, Brute?_

“Agent Barnes,” said Coulson, “stand down.”

Bucky popped a piece of marinated shrimp in his mouth as nonchalantly as if they were all at a friendly summer barbecue. But he held his chopsticks in his left hand: a surefire sign that the right hand, hidden beneath the tabletop, was probably shaking. “C’mon,” he told Coulson. He was grinning, lopsided. “Might as well tell him. You know he’d find out.” 

“You can’t disobey orders just because you disagree with them,” Coulson said. “Agent Barnes, _stand down_.” 

“No, fuck that,” erupted Bucky. The chopsticks snapped between his fingers. “You know what, _fuck_ that, Coulson. Why should I keep my mouth shut? What the hell are you going to do with that shit, anyway? A gas that makes people murder each other? There’s nothing good you can do with that!” 

“Agent Barnes,” said Coulson. “This is not an appropriate venue to air your disagreement with SHIELD policy.” 

“What are you gonna do about it? Fire me? Fuck _you,_ Coulson, I quit!” He dragged his SHIELD badge out of his pocket and hurled it at Coulson. It hit him in the forehead and bounced off, spinning across the tabletop onto the hot grill. The chef lifted it off with his long chopsticks and dropped it gently by Coulson’s plate. 

“We were going to modify everything before we used it,” Simmons said, leaning forward, distressed. “Of course a gas that induces murderous rage is of somewhat limited utility, but a gas that induces fear or perhaps euphoria could be very useful in a battle situation. And its chemical properties are really quite intriguing. I’ve never seen anything quite like – ”

“Simmons,” Coulson said quietly. Simmons fell silent. “Agent Barnes, is there anything else?” 

Bucky’s lips parted. He looked dazed. 

“Agent Barnes?” Coulson pressed. 

Darth Vader’s march rang out on Tony’s phone. Tony looked down at his phone for a long moment, then jabbed a button to silence it. 

Coulson didn’t glance away from Bucky. “I’m going to assume,” he said quietly, “that you didn’t mean any of that. You were angry, and you didn’t think about what you were saying.” He picked up the SHIELD badge: slightly singed now from the grill. 

It was probably good that Coulson was out of Steve’s reach, because Steve could have killed him in that moment. “Coulson,” blurted Steve. “Don’t try to bullshit us. If you’re remaking the stuff in the vault, it’s because you want to use it. Just like the T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol. What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Coulson’s face remained affably unreadable. 

“We found Brock Rumlow,” Natasha said. Coulson still didn’t respond, but Bobbi flinched hard enough that Steve caught it out of the corner of his eye, and he tore his eyes from Coulson to look at the SHIELD agents. Fitz and Simmons looked puzzled, as did Mack; May, sitting next to Coulson, was unreadable. Bucky still stared blankly at the table, not paying attention at all. At his left, Skye – Jesus Christ. 

Skye’s head flopped forward so her hair hid her face. She had wrapped her arms around herself; she looked like she wanted to slide out of her seat and hide under the hibachi table. 

“Did the mind-wipe break down?” Coulson asked, his voice calm in the unnatural silence. “That’s the second subject who has relapsed. The machines must not be calibrated correctly.”

Bucky’s face turned waxy pale. 

“ _The machines must not be calibrated correctly_?” Steve echoed, appalled, at the same moment as Simmons squeaked, “Sir?” 

“You didn’t think maybe you should discuss your mind-wiping program with me?” Tony asked. 

“I wasn’t aware that you wanted us to ask for your approval for every experiment that we run,” Coulson said. “Especially the ones that are still in their pilot stages.” 

“Really? It didn’t occur to you that maybe I would have reservations about, oh, funding evildoing?” 

Coulson’s nostrils flared. “Would you prefer I continue using your money to fund the imprisonment of Hydra agents?” he asked. “This is much less expensive.”

“You mind-wiped people,” said Steve, incredulous, “for _cost-effectiveness_?”

Coulson rounded on him. “No,” he said. “I mind-wiped Hydra prisoners because it was the humane thing to do.”

“Humane!” That was Mack. “Coulson, that’s bullshit.” 

“Really? Where do you think Rumlow was happier? Living out his life in a windowless cell, or living in freedom with his dog?”

“Did you consider any intermediate measures? Maybe a cell with windows?” Tony asked. 

Coulson ignored him. “Ward finally has the opportunity to have the happy childhood he always thought would have saved him,” he said. “If you don’t want to fund prisoner rehabilitation, we can always look for more accepting sources of funding.” 

Simmons made a strange gagging noise. Skye roused from her stupor, suddenly furious, and rounded on Simmons. “You tried to _kill_ Ward that one time we had to work with him.”

“Yes, I did, and I’m sorry I failed,” Simmons replied. “But I never would have done this. How could you, Skye? He didn’t deserve – ”

“What? Happiness?” Skye demanded. 

“Skye,” said Bucky. He wasn’t speaking to her; the name seemed to come out of him involuntarily, like a grunt following a punch to the gut. 

Skye flinched. “No, let me explain,” she said eagerly, as if this could all be sorted out with a good talk. “We weren’t going to use them as weapons or anything. We were _helping_ them. We were giving them a new life, a chance to atone, so they could do better and be happy this time around – ”

“Did you ever visit Rumlow?” Steve asked her. “Or Ward? Or any of them.”

“Of course not. I couldn’t risk jogging their memories.”

“Rumlow didn’t seem all that happy.”

“Happier than when they were in prison,” Skye insisted. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Ward tried to kill himself when we had him locked up. He’s doing better now.”

“Oh, good! You wiped their memories and then dumped them in new lives and surrounded them with bugs!” Steve said. “That’s so much better than a normal prison.”

“We did the best we could,” Bobbi blurted. “We wanted to rehabilitate them. Maybe we didn’t go about it the best way, but I don’t see what else we could have done.”

Simmons turned to stare at her, silent, incredulous. Then, without speaking, Simmons pushed her chair back and fled the table. Fitz got up and followed her, and Mack made a jerky movement like he wanted to go too; but he stayed. 

When they were out of the room, Tony said, “JARVIS, please see that they don’t leave the building.”

“Are you planning to keep us prisoner?” Coulson asked. Disbelief tinged his voice. 

“Well, if you want to put it that way,” Tony said. “Yes. Yes I am.”

Bucky bolted. 

“JARVIS – ” said Tony.

But Steve was on his feet before Bucky’s chair hit the floor. “I’ll get him,” Steve promised, shouting it over his shoulder as he ran after Bucky. 

***

Bucky was fast, but not as fast as Steve; his metal arm always slowed him down. Steve caught up halfway down the fire escape stairs. 

It was a decent escape plan, given that they were far too high up for even Bucky to jump out the window and expect to survive. JARVIS didn’t control access to these stairs, so that if a fire made him malfunction, he couldn’t accidentally trap people there. 

But Tony would have a suit waiting at the exit. It probably would be under orders not to hurt Bucky, but Steve would really rather stop Bucky before they had a chance to find out.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted. 

Bucky took the second half of the flight of stairs in a bound. He spun as he landed, fists up, eyes wild. 

But he didn’t keep running. Steve could see his chest heave as he panted. The sound was harsh in the bare concrete stair. 

“Bucky,” Steve said again. He raised his empty hands and began to walk very slowly down the staircase. “It’s all right.” 

Bucky pressed back against the far wall. “I don’t want to be locked up!”

“No one’s going to lock you up,” Steve said. “We might have to stay here a few days while we get everything sorted out – ”

“ _Stop_ ,” Bucky yelled, and Steve stopped, only a third of the way down the staircase. He stood there, and then, very carefully, sat down. 

Bucky’s panting slowed. Steve sat still and tried not to think how vulnerable this position would make him if Bucky charged. That was the point, after all. Let Bucky see that Steve wasn’t a threat. 

Bucky moved to the bottom of the staircase and stopped there, clasping the stair rail with both hands. He looked up at Steve. His eyes were still wild, but beseeching, too: he wanted Steve to fix this. 

Steve didn’t stand up, but he scooted down a couple more steps on his seat, until Bucky started to draw away. “Tony’s going to lock Coulson up so he can’t continue mind-wiping people,” Steve said. “You didn’t know about it, did you?”

Given Bucky’s non-reaction to the words “T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol” earlier, Steve was almost certain he hadn’t known. But it was still a relief when Bucky shook his head. 

“No one’s going to punish you for something you didn’t do.”

Bucky laughed. He laughed so hard that he bent over the stair rail. “Like that _matters_ ,” he gasped. 

Steve started to his feet. Bucky stopped laughing at once. “Don’t move!” 

Steve settled onto the stairs again. He waited. It was not a difficult position to maintain, but his thighs were beginning to tremble with strain.

“Did _you_ know?” Bucky asked. 

“That Coulson had a mind-wiping program? No.” 

Bucky came up the steps. He hugged the far wall, as far from Steve as he could get on that staircase, and he stopped a couple steps below Steve: far enough away Steve couldn’t have touched him even if he reached out. Steve stretched out his hand, palm up, just in case. 

Bucky didn’t move to take it. He wrapped his hand around the stair rail above his head.“Of course you didn’t know,” Bucky said. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Hey now,” said Steve. He dropped his hand. “You didn’t know either, smartass.”

Bucky flinched hard enough that he knocked his head against the stair rail. “I trusted her,” he blurted, and covered his mouth.

“Skye.”

Bucky’s tenuous grip on self-control gave way. He smacked his metal palm against the step. The concrete cracked. “Fuck Coulson!” 

“Coulson!” Steve echoed, starting with guilty remembrance. “JARVIS, what’s going on with Coulson and the others? Are they trying to get away?”

“The SHIELD crew has been contained,” JARVIS replied. “No one is injured.”

Steve sagged back on the step. “Thank God.” 

“ _Fuck_ Coulson,” Bucky repeated. But he sounded tired this time, almost petulant. “I thought they were different. Not good. But – different. Not evil.” He snorted. “Despite the vault thing.”

“Were you really going to quit?” Steve asked. He hoped so, but it was also the sort of thing Bucky blurted out when he was angry: if it looked like someone might reject him, he’d reject the fuck out of them first. 

“I dunno.” Bucky picked at a buttonhole on his cargo pants. “I’d barely see them anymore if I quit – Simmons or – ” _Skye_ hung in the air, but Bucky didn’t say it. He rubbed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Steve looked over at him. He thought it did matter, but he wasn’t sure what to say, so instead he said, “I’m glad you blew up the vault with me."

Bucky attempted a smile. “It was an awesome explosion,” he said, and glanced up at Steve. “Wasn’t it?”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Steve said. “But yeah.” He sighed. “It was a fantastic explosion.” 

They sat in silence for a while. Steve could hear Bucky’s breathing, heavy and wet: trying not to cry.

“I should never have rejoined SHIELD,” Steve blurted. “I dragged you into this.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky snapped. “I’m the one who decided to turn myself in. I _could_ have kept right on running.”

“So you did come back on purpose?” 

“No, you moron, I just hung around that stupid Smithsonian exhibition and never even thought SHIELD might have it under surveillance,” Bucky said. He gulped a deep breath, held it a few minutes, and continued more calmly. “I knew I’d be working for someone, and I wanted to be sure it was with you. I planned to go to your apartment, but I wanted to see that newsreel one last time, the one they had in the exhibit…” He smacked his palm against the stair again: the flesh hand this time. “Fuck it,” he muttered. “You know the rest.”

“You’d seen May talking to me before,” Steve prompted. Bucky had mentioned that during his interrogation. Coulson had not been happy to hear that Bucky had been watching them, or that his SHIELD agents hadn’t noticed. “You told her you’d come quietly if I came to the museum.”

Steve had run across town – running was faster than his motorcycle during rush hour traffic. He remembered cutting across the Smithsonian café to the corner table where they sat, Bucky flanked by May and two other SHIELD agents. Bucky was thin and dirty, had a bruise on his cheek, but alive, _alive_ ; and he said, “Steve,” when Steve came to the table, and it wasn’t just recognition on Bucky’s face, but relief. He was glad that Steve was there.

Steve had almost cried. He’d spent the previous six months recalling the last look he’d seen on Bucky’s face on the helicarrier, wondering if that expression really had been recognition, or if he had imagined it in a haze of pain and blood loss. And finally Bucky was there, in front of him, and Bucky _knew_ him. Steve leaned across the table and took Bucky’s right hand in both of his and smiled at him. 

He should never have let them take Bucky away for debriefing. 

Bucky’s voice drew Steve back to the stairwell. “I know I should have come back earlier,” he said. “I should have taken you to the hospital instead of dumping you on the riverbank.” He swiped angrily at his eyes. “I just – I was _confused_.”

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve said. “You saved my life just pulling me out of the river.” 

“It took a few months to sort my memories out,” Bucky said. “And I wanted to see who you were working for before I came back. And then I just couldn’t make up my mind to turn myself in, even though it was awful on the run.” He looked up at Steve, smiling that lopsided smile. “I used to talk to Katyushka,” he said, and rapped his knuckles lightly against his metal arm. “When I was on the run. I know she’s – it’s just a hunk of metal. I never thought she could _answer_. I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“Is that why you came back?” Steve asked. He wanted to put an arm around Bucky, or at least to touch his shoulder. But he suspected that would break Bucky’s tenuous grasp on control, and Bucky would not thank him for it. 

Bucky shook his head. “A couple of Hydra agents caught up with me. I got away that time, but I knew – if I didn’t turn myself in then, I wouldn’t get any choice at all. I’d just end up working for whoever caught me first. I should have done it earlier,” he said again. “But I knew it would be rough.” 

He said it matter-of-factly, but Steve’s stomach twisted. Post-defection debriefings were standard – Natasha had gone through one – but Christ. Steve never should have trusted Coulson to carry it out. 

He doubted Coulson had beaten Bucky or anything like that. Even Coulson could see that was torture. But that left a galaxy of other things that he might have done, things that wouldn’t leave marks; not on the body, anyway. 

“Was it very hard?” Steve asked quietly. 

Bucky just shrugged. A smile tugged at the corner of his lip, and suddenly Steve recognized the expression: it echoed Natasha’s wry grins. “Beria wouldn’t even have recognized it as an interrogation,” Bucky said. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” said Steve. 

“I’m sure Tony can find the recordings on the SHIELD database if you’re so concerned about it. Why bother asking me when you can go straight to the source?” Suddenly he was annoyed. “I know you watched them,” he accused. “Coulson said.”

“Yes, but – ” Steve paused to collect himself. “Look. Maybe I was wrong to watch them, but I wanted to make sure your interrogators treated you well, and I trusted Coulson when he said he would turn over all the recordings to me. But if there were recordings where the interrogators hurt you, I didn’t see them. If he told you I approved, he was lying.” 

Bucky sat very still. Steve moved his hand, not planning to touch Bucky – Bucky was still out of reach, anyway. Steve was just stiff, and he had to move. 

But Bucky jerked away from him. “Nobody hurt me,” Bucky said. 

Steve didn’t say anything, but his silence must have sounded doubtful, because Bucky went on, his voice growing louder and angrier as he continued, “They _didn’t_ , Steve. You’re expecting something terrible, you _always_ expect something terrible, you _want_ my life to be terrible; you only took me in because you figured it had been terrible! If it’d been non-stop wall-to-wall horrors all the time, then maybe everything was forgivable! Like anyone who worked for SHIELD is in a position to _forgive_ anybody, anyway. You’re all a bunch of fucking hypocrites!” 

“I know,” Steve said. His throat tightened. “I probably did expect that it was all horrible,” he said. “I never meant…” He paused, searching for words. “I’m sorry I made you feel that was an expectation you were supposed to fulfill. I never wanted you to feel like you had to – like I wanted you to have suffered. Like I would only like you if you had achieved some arbitrary amount of suffering.” 

Bucky didn’t reply. He kept his face low, against his knees. “They didn’t _do_ anything,” Bucky said again, and this time Steve thought he understood. Something _had_ happened during the interrogation, but Bucky didn’t think was bad enough to warrant being upset. 

Natasha’s words echoed in Steve’s mind: _Neither of you ever think anything is bad enough to count._ Coulson could have broken out the thumbscrews and Bucky still would have blamed himself after for screaming. Not like it was the rack, after all.

“Bucky,” Steve said. He took on the voice he would have used on a rattled private: firm but not unkind. “What happened?” 

It worked. “Nothing,” Bucky insisted again, but this time he kept going. “I just hadn’t slept for a while and I cracked up, that’s all. I don’t remember why, exactly. I just got – ” He covered his mouth. “Upset. And Coulson said you were coming to see me but I’d better calm down first, because you wouldn’t be happy to see me like that. And I couldn’t calm down, and I asked him not to – not to let you know.” 

“Bucky,” Steve said. He felt ill. He could almost hear Coulson’s voice, an echo of something Coulson never said, because Steve had been too blind to ask. _Of course I didn’t show you that recording, Captain Rogers. He asked me not to._

Bucky was checking the pockets on his cargo pants. Eventually he came up with a paper napkin, and blew his nose, businesslike. “It’s nothing,” he said again. His voice had taken on the creepy bounciness with which he used to tell assassination stories. “It’s kind of funny, really. He was telling the truth. You would have been so upset.”

“Not with _you_ ,” said Steve. “Sleep deprivation is a method of torture.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky said. “It wasn’t sleep dep, Steve, come on. It was just a few days maybe. Not very long.” He reclined back on the staircase, propping himself on his elbows: an echo of his high school self, draping himself on the back staircase where he and Steve and their pals hung out during lunch hour. “That was just before he let me out, anyway,” Bucky said, and stretched, catlike, and smiled at Steve, like they were sharing a joke. That Coulson. Such a card. “I think he just wanted to make sure I still had tear ducts.” 

He had wanted to prove that he could break Bucky, that’s what he wanted. “I really,” said Steve, “cannot believe I trusted that man.” His eyes prickled with tears. He swallowed hard. “I’m a fucking moron. I should have protected you – Jesus, I promised to protect you. And I turned you over to him.”

“Steve,” said Bucky, and when Steve looked up, he saw that Bucky was holding out a hand. “I trusted him, too. By the end. I never thought he would mind-wipe anyone.”

Steve put his hand in Bucky’s and held tight. “Neither did I.”

“And I thought – Skye – ” Bucky jerked on his hand, and Steve suspected he wanted to pull away, but instead he took it as an excuse to slide close to Bucky. “Fuck,” Bucky said. “Do you think – Simmons and Mack, do you think they – ?”

“I don’t think so,” Steve said. “They seemed – I really think they were shocked.” 

Bucky didn’t reply. He sat there, his head low. Steve squeezed his hand. 

Bucky stood up, brushing himself off. Steve had the sense that he was brushing away that closeness. “We’d better go up before they send someone to take us in,” Bucky said. 

“Yeah,” said Steve. He stood up too. “God,” he said. “This is such a clusterfuck.”

***

The meeting had long since broken up. They found Natasha and Pepper sifting through a litter of papers in the heated gazebo on the roof. They sat on opposite corners of the picnic table, and Steve had the sense that he and Bucky were interrupting an argument – silent, but still simmering – when they ducked under the lintel to enter. 

“So are we all prisoners now?” Bucky asked, bright and sprightly. 

Pepper looked chagrined. “No, I wouldn’t call it – ”

“Yes,” Natasha said. “No one from the Bus is leaving Stark Tower until Tony and Rhodey have destroyed the T.A.H.I.T.I. facilities.”

“Coulson went quietly?” Steve asked. “Are you sure he’s not just waiting till you have your guard down to make a break for it?” 

“He’s welcome to try,” Pepper said. She smiled a surprisingly wolfish smile and lifted a hand. A curl of flame rose off her palm: a gift of Extremis. 

“I think Coulson’s still in shock,” Natasha added. “Probably he thinks we’ll sleep on it and realize that mind-wiping really is the most sensible and compassionate solution to the problem of imprisoned Hydra agents.”

“Oh, Christ,” Steve said. “Jesus. Natasha, how many…?” 

“We found a list,” Natasha said. She handed a piece of paper to Steve. Bucky leaned over Steve’s shoulder to read it. “We’re still looking for their current locations.”

 _The T.A.H.I.T.I. Protocol_ , the page began, in Coulson’s neat, precise hand. _Grant Ward, June 6, 2017_. Five and a half months ago. _Joyce Takei, July 3, 2017._ Steve had been on this very rooftop on the afternoon of July 3, helping Pepper weed her tomato patch and watching Tony set up fireworks for Steve’s birthday party the next day. _Isaac Murphy, July 26, 2017._ Murphy had served on Steve’s STRIKE team a couple times – 

Bucky moved away from Steve. Without Bucky’s comforting warmth at his back, Steve couldn’t stand to read anymore. He counted instead. A dozen names. 

He let out a long, slow breath, and allowed himself a moment to close his eyes. A dozen names was a dozen too many, but it meant that they had nipped things in the bud.

“We’ve found ample evidence of Coulson, Bobbi, and Skye’s involvement,” Natasha added. “It doesn’t look like anyone else on the Bus was involved, but we’ve locked May up just in case.”

“Just for the night?” Steve asked. 

“Until Tony and Rhodey get back,” Pepper said. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with them after that. Rhodey thinks we might be able to transfer Coulson into military custody, but I’m not crazy about that. And Coulson’s already pointed out that we have no legal right to hold them.”

“As if that ever stopped SHIELD,” Steve muttered. And Steve had figured that was all right: locking up Hydra agents without trial was fair. It wasn’t like Hydra ever gave Bucky a trial before locking him up and wiping his mind. Steve had felt so angry, so betrayed, that he had really believed that was justice. 

“I’ve frozen all of SHIELD’s Stark Industries accounts,” Pepper added. “Even if we have to let them out, that will keep them grounded for a while.”

Steve nodded. “How many prisoners does SHIELD have right now?” he asked. 

“Do you mean in SHIELD bases?” Natasha said. “Or are you including the cells in subbasements of state psychiatric facilities?”

 _I mean I want to jump off the roof_ , Steve thought, but he said, “Everyone SHIELD locked up without trial. We’ll need to find them and turn them over to the legal system. Coulson couldn’t have gotten away with this if he didn’t have a supply of warm bodies to experiment on.” 

“This is going to kill us at the _Scapegoat_ hearings,” Pepper said. She brushed her hair back. “I thought the vault was bad, but this…”

“Then we deserve it,” Steve said. 

There was a long pause, filled with the rustle of turning papers and the honk of car horns far below. This far up, the horns sounded like an odd kind of music. The city lights blurred in Steve’s tired vision. 

“Fitz and Simmons and Mack are staying in my suite tonight,” Natasha said. “You two are welcome to stay there too.” 

“Yes,” said Bucky. He had been leaning against the gazebo rail, looking out at the dead winter garden, but he turned to look at Steve inquiringly. 

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “That’d be nice.” 

He didn’t want to spend the night in the big empty apartment Tony had designed for him. Even with Bucky there too, there would be too much space for his thoughts to rattle around. 

“I’m gonna go see Simmons,” Bucky said, and he left, the crushed gravel paths crunching under his combat boots. 

Steve made to stand, to follow, but he felt as if he had grown roots to the picnic table. “Do you want me to help sort through all these papers?” he asked.

Pepper shook her head. “We’re almost done already,” she said. “It was all in Coulson’s briefcase. He didn’t put any of it on the computer. Hard copies only.”

Maybe Coulson wasn’t so certain everyone would approve, after all. 

“And a lot of it is just boilerplate consent forms.” Pepper pushed one over toward Steve. “All the victims signed.”

“Consent – ?” Steve felt a little ill. “How did he get them to sign?”

He was thinking of torture, but Pepper said, “They don’t mention the memory override procedure until the second page.” She shrugged slightly, exhausted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the victims just didn’t bother to read them.” 

The dense legal language wore Steve out before the end of the first paragraph. He thought Pepper was probably right. This was a form designed to defeat anyone who wanted to read it. He could easily see Coulson handing it to Rumlow – maybe part of a whole pile of forms Rumlow needed to sign, God knows what reason Coulson offered – and Rumlow, always impatient with paperwork, signing them without even bothering to skim the contents. 

“Maybe they just didn’t care anymore,” Steve said. “Three years in prison without even hope for a trial…” He stared out at the city lights. “I ought to go see Rumlow,” he said, still not standing. “JARVIS? Is Rumlow awake?” 

“Agent Rumlow is still sedated,” JARVIS reported. 

“I’ll go with you,” Natasha said, although she didn’t stand either. “And we had better get Bobbi.”

“Natasha,” Pepper said. 

“I can handle Bobbi,” Natasha said. 

“I’m sure you can handle Bobbi. Can you handle Bobbi and a mind-wiped minion?” Pepper asked.

“Wouldn’t you rather find out now than when Bobbi and I head out to bring in the other two members of her caseload?” Natasha said. 

“You’re _not_ taking Bobbi along for that. It’s too dangerous,” Pepper insisted. Her tone of frustration suggested she’d said it before, and Steve realized that this was the argument he and Bucky must have interrupted when they arrived. 

“We never would have found Rumlow if Bobbi hadn’t recommended that restaurant to me, Pepper,” Natasha said. “She offered up the locations of the other two members of her caseload when we asked. She wants to atone. She made a mistake, and she’s trying to help fix it. Let me give her a chance.” 

Pepper flipped over a few sheets of paper. She frowned down at the stack of consent forms. “Fine,” Pepper said. “Take Bobbi.” 

***

Steve and Natasha stood against the back wall of the elevator. Steve briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again and looked at Natasha. Natasha was staring unseeing at the floor numbers clicking by above the door. “Never mind-wipe anyone,” she told Steve. “I never want to have that discussion with any of my friends ever again.”

“I won’t,” Steve promised. 

She closed her eyes. The floor numbers continued to ding past above the door. The elevator glided so smoothly that the passing numbers were the only sign it was moving. 

The doors opened. Natasha opened her eyes. 

“This is going to be hell, isn’t it?” Steve said.

“Yes,” said Natasha. 

“Well,” said Steve. “Let’s get to it.”


End file.
